the light at the end of the tunnel looks an awful lot like an oncoming
by Panny Pancake
Summary: When it's everything that you wanted and fought for, taking that step, moving on should be easy. But it's not.


Real life, even in its most earth-shatteringly significant moments, doesn't let you get away with a fade to black. Things don't wrap up neatly. Just because you found your way doesn't mean that you don't have to deal with the bridges that you burned to get there. Just because you can't go back to where you were before (and you don't want to), doesn't mean that going forward is easy.

It should be. When it's everything that you wanted and fought for, taking that step, moving on should be _easy_. But it's not.

Tsukimoto "Smile" Makoto met this realization somewhere at the corner of Hope and Resignation. It wasn't that there hadn't been any relief. The adrenaline of his first real match against Peco in years had been washed away by a state of calm contentment. He'd slept so well that night that he'd wondered if he'd ever known what it felt like to be truly rested. But even if he allowed himself to hold onto that happiness for as long as he dared, it didn't mean that anything was truly over. Even now, it wouldn't be okay for him to stop and say "ah, that's enough". The single-minded focus that he'd forced himself to endure had been painful, but without it he was at a loss.

He gripped the strap of his bag tightly as he dawdled outside the locker room. It shouldn't have been this terrifying, just going to practice. How many times had he opened this same door, seen the same faces, heard the squeak of his shoes on these same floors? But it was different this time, wasn't it. There were no reasons (or excuses) to hide behind anymore. Instead all he could do was acknowledge the cold, simple truth; he had been mean.

Makoto had never made friends easily because dealing with people was hard. Even when other people weren't cruel themselves, he didn't know how to approach them. He saw the easy camaraderie between other people and couldn't fathom how to get there. His friendship with Peco had been a true anomaly; a bizarre case of the other boy's eccentricities overbalancing his own quirks. And it wasn't like he and the others had really been _friends_, even before.

Sure, they had cheered for him as hard as they had cheered for Peco at the match, but he didn't dare let himself think that that meant anything now. The match had been different, special. Peco's ping pong didn't have any room for bad feelings. But even if that was the end result and he couldn't, _wouldn't _allow himself to regret what it had taken to reach that point, he knew that he had been callous. He had thrown up his walls and pushed and shoved and made an impenetrable space around himself because he couldn't lose his nerve, his resolve and he didn't care if someone else got hurt, not if he was staking something more deeply precious than his life on ping pong. And it was fair, he knew, if they hated him because of it.

And it wasn't like they had ever been _friends_. He knew that and he told himself over and over. It didn't make it feel any less lonely.

But a true characteristic of heroes was that they had excellent timing. Peco probably hadn't meant to sneak up on him, but the firm hand that clapped him on his shoulder still startled him badly. Even as he moved to re-adjust his glasses in a self-conscious gesture of reassurance, he felt something in him start to unwind. Peco asked him why he was skulking about in the hallway and his tone was playful and light, but there was an undercurrent of concern and his hand was warm even through Makoto's shirt. When he told Peco that he was fine, he thought he actually might have meant it.

He was surprised again to receive a greeting from Ota - not especially cheerful, but no animosity in it either. Neutral, despite the complicated expression on his face that Makoto couldn't quite figure out. He returned the greeting and didn't know why it felt like a big deal, but it did.

The practice wasn't without tension, but slowly, steadily it seemed to dissipate. Ota and the others looked like they might have been having fun. Makoto thought that, at least, he might have known what that felt like.

It wasn't easy. But a start is still a beginning, regardless of its quality.

* * *

When the new first years joined, it was even scarier than his first day back at club. His match with Peco had apparently caused enough of a stir to generate some interest in Katase among ping pong enthusiasts entering high school. This meant that Makoto spent a lot of time being watched without ever being approached. He hadn't ever liked being the center of attention and it was even worse somehow when he kept waiting for them to do or say something and they never did. Any time he so much as looked at them, they all found something apparently fascinating on the wall or ceiling or under their shoes as if only they avoided eye contact he wouldn't feel their stares crawling all over him throughout practice. Whoever had decided that the old adage of "they're more scared of you than you are of them" was meant to be comforting clearly had never experienced it. It was awful.

The only consolation that Makoto could find in the situation was that some of the first years were really _good_. Rough and unpolished, but with the drive to improve (and with Koizumi having found his resolve sometime in between that match and the start of the new school year, they were going to need that). It was during a practice match against one of them that Makoto slipped. He fell into a state of such intense focus on the game being played that he forgot himself and forgot that he was supposed to be afraid. The stretch at the corners of his mouth wasn't even worth noting when his heart was thundering in his chest, pumping blood that he knew would taste like iron through every part of his body.

("Oi, is Tsukimoto-san..."

"I didn't know that he even could."

"Don't say that so loud! He'll get mad!"

"I don't know, when he looks like that I think-")

When the match finished, he'd lost track of his surroundings enough to let out an unthinking victory cry, arms pumping once in an attempt to cope with the overflowing exertion. But as the noise of his own voice faded, he suddenly became sharply aware of the eyes on him once again. Even at his most expressive, Makoto didn't tend to blush, but he could feel the sickly, prickling heat of humiliation spread over his body. He might have done something thoughtless to make the situation worse like bolt from the room if the first year he'd faced didn't choose that moment to stand in front of him, glaring fiercely.

"You're good, Tsukimoto-san," he said, fists clenched harshly at his side and voice rough with what Makoto was numbly horrified to realize might have been the beginning of tears. "You're really good, but I'm going to be good too. I love ping pong more than anybody so I'm going train hard and I'm going to get good enough to beat you." The first year stuck out his hand, holding it stiffly in the space between them. "So watch me because I'm going to do it and when I do, I want you to promise to have another match with me. A proper one, where we don't hold anything back from the beginning." And Makoto let himself, unthinkingly, shake his hand, receiving a shaky, but genuine smile in return that made something warm unfurl in the pit of his stomach.

When he almost automatically looked for Peco afterwards, he found his friend watching him with an unreadable look on his face.

* * *

Things started to change after that, faster than Makoto was really ready for. Even so, he found that oddly he didn't mind. The first years lost all pretense of shyness and he could barely walk down the hallway without an enthusiastic greeting of "senpai!" chasing after him, earning him odd, contemplative looks from his yearmates. Yamamoto, the first year who had started it all, brazenly called himself "Tsukimoto-senpai's rival" to anyone who would listen, but really the boy ended up under Makoto's tutelage during practices more often than not, constantly seeking out his advice and approval. And he wasn't the only one; Makoto felt like he was spending more time helping the younger students than working on his own technique. Maybe it should have bothered him, but...he was having fun.

"You might make a good coach yet," Koizumi told him one day and it was a joke, but somehow it also wasn't. The idea would come back to him at odd moments; when he was doodling on his History test, when he was paying for his lunch, when he woke a few minutes before his alarm was set to go off, staring contemplatively into the dark as the thought reverberated in his head.

And all through these paradoxically restless yet peaceful days, he would catch Peco giving him those looks that he couldn't understand.

* * *

For someone with as much appreciation for dramatics as Peco, the confession was strangely subdued. They were sitting side by side on the bus, knees touching from the proximity of their seats, but not uncomfortable.

"Let's go see a movie together this weekend." The proclamation came out of the blue, but that in itself wasn't unusual. Makoto found himself nodding without a moment's pause, not even asking what movie they were going to see because it didn't matter. His world had grown recently and he didn't dislike it, but he would always, always want this time when it was just him and Peco.

"Just so you know," Peco continued, sounding oddly serious and _that_ was enough to get Makoto to turn to him (that look was back on his face again and Makoto's stomach was doing strange flips), "I'm asking you as a date. I like you, Smile."

The slight stutter of his breathing was the only thing to give away his surprise, but Makoto nodded again, his throat suddenly feeling too dry to attempt speaking. Peco squinted at him, scrutinizing his face as if looking for something. Makoto usually had no trouble staying still, but the urge to fidget was suddenly overwhelming because his heart was hammering and pumping iron blood through his veins and he wasn't even playing a game right now. Peco must have found whatever he was looking for because he smiled brightly and started kicking his legs childishly, having no compunctions about moving however he wanted, wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

Makoto let his gaze drift back to the window, needing a distraction because the pleased flutter in his stomach had rapidly grown violent and it would probably ruin the moment if he was abruptly sick out of sheer excitement. Suddenly he froze.

Even with his reflection muddied and translucent in the window's glass, he could clearly see the red flush crawling across his face.

(It wouldn't be until after the movie that Makoto would realize that he never said "I like you" back and Peco would smile at him, even though he hadn't needed the confirmation; as far as Peco was concerned, even if he was blunt when he spoke, "Smile" was often most honest without saying anything.

The year was already cooling and it was chilly by the time they left the theatre. The place where their palms touched was very warm.)

(If the first years noticed anything different the next time they had practice, they didn't say anything. It was likely that they did. Peco usually radiated self-confidence, but lately he was downright smug.)


End file.
